


in a dream; she belongs (in a dream)

by jacenbren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BD-1 Is The Best (Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order), BD-1 is Cal’s therapy dog, Bipolar Disorder, Blood, Cal Kestis Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I beat canon with a stick to make this happen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Physical Disability, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Recovery, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Serious Injuries, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Threesome - F/F/M, Trauma, Trilla Suduri | Second Sister Lives, but it’s not the main focus here, cal kestis has two hands one for each of his big tiddy goth gfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacenbren/pseuds/jacenbren
Summary: It was much too late at night for any of them to still be awake, but the three of them each had their reasons.(Or, quiet moments aboard theStinger Mantiswith Merrin, Cal, and Trilla.)
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Merrin, Cal Kestis/Merrin/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Merrin/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	in a dream; she belongs (in a dream)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my docs for a while so why don’t we kick off the new year right with a good serving of star wars hurt/comfort
> 
> Also Cal Merrin and Trilla are all bisexual because I said so

It was much too late at night for any of them to still be awake, but the three of them each had their reasons. 

Cal had nightmares; flashbacks of Order 66 floating to the surface of his mind and losing his master and the horrible pain that had never left him, trying to fight the urges he got to hurt himself again. 

Merrin had nightmares; the memories of watching the massacre of her Sisters and Mother when she was but a child returning, leaving her alone with the dead. 

And Trilla had nightmares; the horrible things she’d done as an Inquisitor haunting her, her guilt and fear sinking its teeth into her like an angry Loth-wolf. 

So they often ended up like this. 

Greez and Cere were asleep in their quarters, BD-1 was in Cal’s in low power mode, and Merrin found herself trapped in between a pair of warm, muscled bodies and a mound of blankets in her bunk, softly combing her fingers through Trilla’s ebony hair. 

“It’s getting bad again,” Cal mumbled against Trilla’s chest. 

Something hardened in Trilla’s eyes as Cal spoke, steel-grey flashing yellow for a split second before reverting to normal. 

That was the odd thing, Merrin thought to herself. Ever since the former Sith Inquisitor had been struck down by Vader, survived by the skin of her teeth with injuries that would take a lifetime to heal and joined their motley crew, the woman had never quite lost her ferocity and threatening, powerful nature. 

Sure, Trilla had vastly improved, but that didn’t stop her violent outbursts and killing whatever got in her way on the few missions she was physically capable of going on without a second’s hesitation. 

Not that Merrin didn’t do the same. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” She murmured into Cal’s ear. “If you did, please tell me where.”

She felt Cal’s body stiffen. 

Cal was very much like Trilla in ways of stubbornness and passion, but where the former Inquisitor would lash out, the young Jedi would curl up and withdraw. 

Yes, he certainly was less scared and awkward than he had been when Merrin had first laid eyes on him (and tried to kill him moments later; she still felt a little guilty about that whole mess), but there had been something wrong ever since Nur, and that period of time when Cal had stopped eating and started cutting himself had been the worst, especially after what had happened with him only a month ago.

“I’m okay,” Cal replied, his voice trembling with pain. “I just… I just want to. I want it so bad. I’ve wanted it since… since the Purge, and it comes back…”

He trailed off faintly. 

Cal was bipolar, which was well-known by all aboard the  _ Mantis, _ and his depressive episodes put strain on all of them. 

Especially after… what had happened. 

“Cal, it’s not your fault,” Trilla said stiffly. “You were a child. There was nothing you could’ve done. But everything’s going to be alright now, understand?”

Cal let out a muffled sob. 

Merrin felt a wave of guilt and anger from Trilla, and bit her lip nervously. 

Trilla didn’t believe her own words. 

Merrin didn’t bother speaking, opting instead for resting her chin on Trilla’s shoulder and reaching down to soothingly run her fingers through Cal’s soft russet hair, trying to project some kind of positive emotion onto him and soothe his pain. 

Pain from wounds that neither healing magick nor medicine could ever fix. 

Some time later Cal fell asleep, his breaths evening out, and Trilla shifted onto her stomach, yawning and stretching and gritting her teeth as the wound on her back twisted, the scorched, mutilated mess of scar tissue that went all the way from her right shoulder to her left hip getting pulled a little too tight. Vader’s blow had damaged her spinal cord, leaving Trilla partially paralyzed from the waist down. 

Merrin sighed and sat up, reaching up for the jar of ointment she’d brewed up specifically for Trilla’s wound. 

Lightsaber wounds left worse scars than any other weapon Merrin had ever seen. 

She wordlessly dipped her fingers into the cool, slimy paste of Dathomir swamp plants and others she’d scrounged up from Greez’s terrarium, undoing the back of Trilla's breastband and spreading the ointment over the wound. 

Trilla let out a faint sigh of relief, and Cal, who was still nestled in the crook of her arm, murmured in his sleep and curled an arm around her waist. 

The sight drew a quiet smile to Merrin’s lips.

She’d never been in this kind of love before, she thought, putting away the ointment and wiping her hand so she could lay back down.

“Thank you,” Trilla grunted, her eyes closed tight. “I needed that.”

“Gratitude is not necessary,” Merrin chuckled softly, brushing Trilla’s hair to the side and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“Well, what if I  _ wanted _ to thank you?” Trilla grumbled, and before Merrin could reply she was trapped against Trilla’s chest, held gently in her soft embrace. 

Not that Merrin was complaining. Trilla’s arms were muscular (though her muscles were not quite as obvious as Cal’s) and her body always seemed to radiate heat like a furnace.

Cal shifted in his sleep and buried his face in the back of Trilla’s neck.

That made Merrin chuckle. 

Words weren’t exactly her strong suit, but she  _ could _ say that she liked these quiet nights aboard the  _ Mantis. _

———

Merrin’s meditative trance broke as Cal stumbled into her quarters. 

“Merrin,” he stammered, his face white as a sheet and his hands clutching at the air as he held his arms out in front of him, green eyes wide and puffy and tear-filled. “Merrin help me. Trilla’s asleep and I don’t want to bother her…”

Merrin froze. 

_ Oh, oh no.  _

There were thin gashes torn into Cal’s forearms, probably done with his shaving razor, none of them lethal but still dripping blood on the durasteel floor. 

“Oh Mother,” Merrin breathed, guilt and fear swelling in her chest. 

Not again. 

Please please  _ please _ not again.

“I know I have to stop,” Cal babbled, his body trembling as Merrin pulled him towards the sickbay. “I know I shouldn’t do it but I feel so numb and I want to feel  _ something _ and everything hurts but everything just feels so  _ empty—“ _

“Hush,” Merrin ordered. 

Cal froze, his arms still held out in front of him, his body shaking like a leaf. 

Merrin bit her lip hard, tears of her own prickling in her eyes as she reached for the medkit, struggling to keep her composure as she worked. 

Eight months after they had destroyed the holocron. 

Eight months had passed before Cere had found Cal unconscious in his bunk, a letter with all of their names on it clutched in his hand and both of his wrists slit, his sheets soaked with his own blood and his eyes half open and lifeless.

Had Cere found him mere minutes later, they would not have been able to save him.

Merrin had read the bloodstained letter exactly thirteen times while he’d been unconscious in the bacta tank on Polis Massa, the only medical facility they’d been able to find that had strict enough doctor-patient confidentiality that they wouldn’t be discovered and reported to the Empire.

Cal’s paranoid, guilt-ridden rambling, written in his tiny, endearingly messy scrawl, had made Merrin cry.

And she didn’t cry often.

He’d written for two whole pages about how he didn’t have any more reason to live, how he’d been seriously considering taking his own life before he’d been discovered on Bracca, how he loved all of them and that he didn’t want to be a burden because Trilla was the one who needed more help given her severe injuries and that his trauma (albeit the fact that he’d finally faced his past) had finally become too much and living had become too painful.

That he felt like he’d failed, somehow, and that he wanted to go home.

He’d mentioned wanting to go home many times in his suicide note, like he was trying to express his hiraeth but he couldn’t figure out how.

“Merrin,” Cal sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he grasped at empty air in front of him. “Merrin, everything’s numb. I’m scared. I want to go home. I can’t do it. Don’t let me do it,  _ please _ don’t let me do it. I  _ want _ to do it. I have to stop but I can’t and if somebody doesn’t stop me I’ll probably do it again;  _ please—“ _

Merrin gritted her teeth and pulled him close, letting him bury his face in her tunic.

She was glad it was the middle of the night.

Cere had never forgiven herself for neither Trilla’s fall to the Dark Side nor Cal’s suicide attempt, and she’d been distant and in pain for days and now whenever Cal had an episode she was always clearly on the verge of panicking.

Merrin didn’t blame Cere for this.

Cere was just… 

Well, empathy wasn’t the woman’s strong suit, and she’d never quite recovered from her own trauma.

“Cal,” Merrin murmured, stroking his hair. “Cal, breathe. Everything is going to be alright, just breathe. I won’t let you hurt yourself anymore. It’s alright.”

Suddenly the door hissed open and there was Trilla, her hair frizzy and matted from sleep, and Merrin winced. Trilla must’ve sensed their distress through the Force and woken up, or she’d heard Cal’s sobs.

But Cere and Greez weren’t awake, so it was most likely the former.

“Kriffing hell, you look like bantha fodder,” she muttered, as blunt as she’d always been, gently nudging Merrin’s arm aside so she could take Cal’s face in her hands. “‘Hells, what did you do to yourself?”

Cal sobbed wordlessly and slumped into her arms.

Trilla had been bedridden and half-conscious from the pain of losing her balance on her crutches and falling down the  _ Mantis’s _ ramp the day before Cal’s attempt, so she’d missed when Cal had truly hit rock bottom (and then pulled out a pickaxe and kept digging), but she must’ve sensed something wrong because she’d  _ known. _

Trilla had sensed Cal’s pain.

She’d known intrinsically that he'd finally snapped.

They all ended up back in Merrin’s quarters again, but this time Cal was between the two of them, still shaking and crying quietly but at least his sobs had finally died down. 

Merrin could sense what Trilla was thinking. 

The woman wanted so badly to hunt down the people who’d hurt Cal to the point of him breaking and give every one of them a violent, painful death, but deep down she knew that wouldn’t be possible. And besides, Cal, being Cal, would probably try to stop her. 

After a while, Cal had finally dozed off. 

_ “I _ did this,” Trilla suddenly mumbled. “I hunted him.  _ I _ hurt him.”

Merrin sighed. 

“Trilla,” she replied gently, “you cannot change what has already come to pass.”

She knew Trilla wished she could undo what she’d done, but sadly there was no way to alter the course of history. 

Trilla heaved a sigh of exhaustion and rubbed her face, pressing a light kiss against the back of Cal’s neck before closing her eyes, her arm sliding gently around his waist, smoothing out his ratty grey sweater as she rubbed his still painfully concave stomach. 

Cal murmured something in his sleep and seemed to relax. 

Merrin smiled and kissed his lips gently. 

Everything was going to be alright, she thought to herself. Everything was going to be alright. 

———

Given that Dathomir’s day/night cycles was different from what was normal for humans, sleep never came easily to Merrin.

Right now, she was trying to meditate on the couch in the lounge. 

Her thoughts kept slipping to Cal and Trilla. 

_ Sisters, _ she thought defiantly, pushing aside the image of Trilla’s finely muscled shoulders for the nth time,  _ be with me. _

Merrin had thought about Trilla’s and Cal’s bodies many times before. It had started out relatively innocent; she’d merely been impressed and fascinated by both the broad, scarred expanse of Cal’s chest and how Trilla’s arms flexed when she was wearing a sleeveless shirt (Merrin wasn’t capable of nearly as much brute force given that most of her magick required mental power rather than physical strength) but things had become more sordid after she’d stumbled upon Trilla in the refresher by accident after the former Inquisitor had forgotten to lock the door. 

Merrin had caught herself thinking about that moment, the glimpse she’d gotten of Trilla’s slim but by no means fragile body, how her black hair clung to her shoulders and the overhead lights reflected off her dark, damp skin.

That image was nagging her again. 

Merrin sighed and flopped back against the couch, suddenly feeling very warm as the image of Trilla’s body made it to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t help imagining Trilla’s arms around her like when all three of them curled up in a bunk together, but without their clothes in the way. 

Merrin bit her lip hard. 

The thought of Cal without his clothes on was equally appealing, she thought, finally giving in and reaching into her sweatpants to touch herself. Merrin had seen Cal in his underclothes before due to unfortunate medical circumstances, and she’d often thought about his body as well. 

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a groan at the thought of Cal’s or Trilla’s hand between her legs instead of her own. 

Merrin  _ wanted _ them. 

Then, suddenly, she sensed Trilla waking.

With a hiss of annoyance, Merrin hastily sat up and wiped her hand on the couch (hopefully Greez wouldn’t notice), fixing her sweatpants just as Trilla limped blearily into the galley, leaning on her crutches. 

“Someone’s awake late,” Merrin remarked, hoping her voice wasn’t trembling. 

Trilla scowled. “M’thirsty.”

Then she tried to reach one of the cups on the higher shelves, clenching her teeth as the movement obviously put strain on her scar. 

Trilla had been using her crutches to help her walk since Vader had struck her down back on Nur. Even after undergoing extensive physical therapy, it seemed that Trilla’s legs would be weak and struggle to support her weight without help for years to come. 

So even reaching a cup without help had become a chore for her. 

“Blast it!” Trilla hissed, visibly flinching this time as she struggled to reach the shelf. “Kriffing hell, almost…”

Merrin sighed and raised her finger. 

With a small flash of green magick, the cup fell off the shelf into Trilla’s hand. 

The woman glared at her. 

“I almost had it,” Trilla growled. 

Then she limped to the sink and gulped down a glass of water before hauling herself over to join Merrin on the couch. 

“I hate this,” Trilla snapped. “I hate being like this. I’m helpless. I can barely move.”

“You’re improved,” Merrin supplied hopefully. “Vastly, in fact. You used to require Cere’s help merely to stand, but now you can walk on your own and even come on missions that aren’t as physically demanding.”

Trilla bristled, but visibly deflated. 

“You’re right, you’re right,” she grumbled, sprawling out on the couch. “I just… I feel like a failure. I failed Cere, I failed Lord Vader, I’ve failed everyone I’ve ever served in my life. It’s… demoralizing.”

“Failure is not the end,” Merrin replied, recalling words she’d once heard her beloved Ilyana say. “It is a chance to begin again. But this time, more wisely.”

Trilla pursed her lips. “Hm.”

It wasn’t long before they were both lying together on the couch, curled in each other’s arms.

Merrin sighed.

She still…  _ wanted _ both of her friends.

But she couldn’t tell if the love between them was  _ eros _ or  _ philia. _

Maybe she’d never know. 

———

“You can do it,” Cere chided. 

Merrin bit her lip as Cal stared at his plate, and although his face was a stoic, exhausted mask, fear and anxiety and guilt radiated off him in waves. 

“I…” he mumbled. 

“Cal, please,” Cere said, the strain in her voice audible. “You need to eat. If you don’t you’re going to—“

“Stop it,” Cal stammered. 

His calm facade was visibly cracking as he lifted his fork halfway to his mouth with a chunk of steak on in, his hand shaking wildly. 

He hadn’t eaten anything this filling in months, and he was clearly struggling. 

“Cal,” Cere sighed. 

Greez, meanwhile, was just glancing nervously between them like he was expecting the table to explode. 

“I can’t,” Cal mumbled, beginning to hyperventilate as he dropped his fork with a loud clatter of metal on the tabletop. “I can’t do it, Cere, I’m sorry, I just can’t do this—“

“Do you  _ want _ to die?” Cere snapped. 

Fear and guilt flashed through the woman’s eyes the second the words left her as she realized what she’d said, clapping a hand over her mouth in horror. 

And Cal crumpled forward in his chair, burying his face in his hands.

His body was trembling silently. 

“Of  _ course _ he wants to fucking die!” Trilla snarled, slamming her fist on the table. “Have you not seen him for the past year or are you  _ really _ that dense, Cere?”

Cere flinched, her guilt and horror nearly palpable. “No, no no, no, Trilla, I didn’t mean—“

“Really?” Trilla spat. “Look at him! Fucking look at him, Cere! Just give him a fucking second before you—“

Cal jumped out of his chair and bolted. 

The room fell silent, the only sounds the ever-present thrumming of the  _ Mantis _ and barely audible sobs from Cal’s quarters. 

Cere seemed to visibly deflate, something in her eyes dulling. 

Merrin winced. 

Trilla growled and shoveled the last of her steak into her mouth before limping out. 

“You okay, Cere?” Greez asked. 

Cere deflated, covering her face with her hand as she leaned on the table, but the gesture did little to hide her tears. 

“I can’t believe I fucked up again,” she mumbled. “I failed them both, Greez, I failed both of my Padawans; this is my fault. He’s suffering and I want to help but everything I do just makes it worse…”

Cere trailed off, shaking silently. 

Greez winced, taking her arm and leading her away from the table towards the cockpit. “Hey, Cere, it’s gonna be okay. The kid’s gonna be okay. Oh, I know, why don’t you tell me about that bonsai garden you wanted to build for your room?”

Cere sniffled, mumbling something about potting soil as they left. 

And Merrin was alone. 

With a sigh, she headed to the galley and took a packet of crackers from the cabinet and headed to Cal’s quarters. 

When she opened the door, he was huddled in his bunk, shivering, and wrapped in his blankets, eyes red and puffy from crying. He was leaning against Trilla, who was stroking his hair and murmuring gently. 

“Cal,” Merrin began. “Would you like something else to eat?”

Cal froze. 

“Uhm,” he stammered, shrinking into his blankets. “I… uh…”

He was cut off as BD-1 suddenly poked his head out of the pile of blankets, trilling and beeping loudly. Merrin didn’t quite catch what he said, but a ghost of a smile crossed Cal’s lips for a moment. 

“Do you want to eat?” Trilla asked him. 

Cal nodded slowly. 

And so Merrin unwrapped the crackers, and after ten minutes of coaxing and gentle kisses, Cal had finally eaten all of them. 

Physically, he looked a bit better than he had a while ago, but he was still pale and his skin was abnormally dry, and he bruised like an overripe meiloorun. At least he was drinking water now and eating small things like crackers and even half a sandwich from time to time, but it was frightening to look at him and realize just how close to death he’d come.

Merrin didn’t know how to help. 

Cal had become so obsessed with not getting in the way and being a burden while Trilla had been relearning how to walk and do even menial tasks that he’d taken it way too far and stopped taking  _ anything _ for himself. 

He’d stopped bathing, he’d stopped eating, he’d stopped resting, he’d even stopped treating his injuries. 

And then he’d finally tried to kill himself. 

He’d survived the worst, but his road to recovery was going to be long and painful. 

Merrin just hoped he’d make it through, she thought to herself as they curled up in Cal’s bunk together, BD-1 crawling up and settling on Cal’s chest before switching into low power mode. 

That made Merrin chuckle.

Through sheer serendipity, that little droid seemed to have an unconditional affection for Cal. Deep down, Merrin had a feeling BD-1 was the one of the few reasons Cal hadn’t attempted again. 

The poor droid had been incredibly distressed and nearly inconsolable the first time around. 

———

It was late at night again, and this time Merrin woke to a warm, heavy feeling in the Force reverberating through her. 

Whatever it was, it was pleasant and arousing and she didn’t want it to stop. 

After taking a moment to focus and collect herself, she realized she could feel Cal’s presence in the Force, along with Trilla’s, and it almost seemed like they were calling out to her. 

With a grunt, Merrin hauled herself off her cot and slipped down the hall. 

She almost tripped over BD-1, who was pacing outside the door to Cal’s quarters, and when he saw Merrin he started hopping up and down, squawking. 

“Hush,” Merrin murmured, patting the droid’s head. “Cere and Greez are sleeping. Why are you out here?”

She’d started taking lessons on binary from Cal (he benefited from the distraction from his pain as much as Merrin did from learning droidspeak), and she managed to translate BD-1’s next sequence of beeps. 

“They wanted privacy?” She repeated, raising an eyebrow at the little red-and-white droid. “What for?”

BD-1 let out a string of whistles and chirps. 

“You don’t know?” Merrin sighed. “And he told you to keep Cere and Greez from entering? But not me?”

BD-1 trilled in affirmation. 

Merrin chuckled softly as she stroked BD-1’s antenna like the ears of a Loth-cat. “Of course he did.”

She nudged the little droid gently aside and pressed her ear to the door. 

She heard the sounds of someone shifting around on sheets, quiet murmuring, and soft moans that made her stomach flutter. 

She reached for Cal and Trilla in the Force to let them know she was near, and then keyed the panel on the door. 

It didn’t budge. 

She muttered a curse in Dathomiri, but before she could go and get her talisman from her quarters to teleport inside, the door hissed open just enough for her to walk in. Of course, she had to fend BD-1 away so he wouldn’t dive in due to his sempiternal curiosity, but her efforts, once she managed to shut the door, were worth it. 

She stopped short, eyes widening. 

Cal was on his back, head lolling on his pillow and his expression blissful, sweat shining on his throat and gloriously bare chest. In fact,  _ all _ of him was bare, his pale, freckled and slightly bruised skin flushed as he held onto Trilla’s hips, panting hard as she straddled his waist, rocking back and forth on top of him.

“Kriffing hell,” Trilla mumbled fervently, her breath coming in gasps. “You feel so good.”

Then she glanced over at Merrin. 

Merrin suddenly felt flustered and as Trilla stopped moving, her eyebrow raising. 

“I felt you,” Merrin blurted, wincing at how her accent made her words wobble awkwardly when she got a full view of Trilla’s and Cal’s naked bodies, and how they both seemed very unperturbed. 

Trilla hummed in affirmation. “That’s good. Because we’d both like to fuck you.”

Cal’s face flushed red as he nodded. 

Merrin bit her lip.

“You do?” She murmured, her hand wandering towards the fasteners of her sleepshirt. Trilla had always been rather blunt, and right now was no exception. 

Trilla nodded. “You heard me.”

“U—unless you don’t want to,” Cal added, stroking Trilla’s hip. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, or—“

Merrin strode forward and leaned down, kissing him. 

Cal inhaled sharply, his hands sliding up to her shoulders, and Merrin couldn’t help moaning softly. 

She’d kissed Cal before, but never like this. 

“C’mon,” Trilla growled, pulling her shirt off her shoulders and sliding her hands down to grope at her ass. “C’mon. Get your clothes off, love.”

Merrin gasped, sinking onto the bed as Trilla yanked her sweatpants down, sliding in between Cal’s legs. Cal’s body was  _ warm, _ Merrin realized as he traced his fingers reverently over the tattoos on her skin. Warm for the first time since…

Since  _ ever.  _

His skin had been cold and clammy when she’d pulled him out of the sea on Nur, icy to the touch when they’d carried him off the  _ Mantis _ on Polis Massa, chilled and dry every time she’d held him in her arms since. 

But now he felt flushed and hot, burning compared to how he usually was. 

And Trilla’s sweat-damp skin was warmer than ever against Merrin’s back, nimble and callused hands sliding around between her body and Cal’s. 

Cal and Trilla were both handsy. 

Maybe it was Cal’s psychometry, Merrin thought; his need to touch, to  _ feel. _

And then Trilla’s hand slid between her thighs, and Merrin choked on a whine, her body arching involuntarily. She’d never had someone else touch her like this before, but she liked it. 

She never wanted it to stop. 

And then, of course, Trilla  _ had _ to pull away.

“I’m going on my back,” she grunted. “I need help moving. Either one of you.”

Merrin sat up quickly. 

She wanted more, and wanted it badly, she thought to herself as they scrambled to get situated. Finally Trilla was sitting against a stack of pillows and clothing, Cal was kneeling between her legs, and Merrin was pinned between their bodies, gasping for breath. 

This felt like heaven and hell all at the same time, she thought as Trilla’s damp fingers slid down her front to her stomach and between her legs again. And Cal was kissing her, pressing her body against Trilla’s as he licked into her mouth like a man dying of hunger who’d happened to stumble across a full-course meal. He bent his head, peppering kisses along Merrin’s shoulders and collar and finally her breasts, gently catching a nipple in his mouth and sucking. 

Merrin sputtered a curse as Trilla’s fingers thrust roughly up inside her. 

“Cal,” Trilla growled, “Fuck me.”

Cal obliged eagerly.

A moan caught in Merrin’s throat as he slid closer, and she felt Trilla’s body tense up behind her and the former Inquisitor’s breath seize up. Merrin quickly decided she needed to memorize this feeling. 

She’d never truly been with someone like this before. After all, all her Sisters had died when she was young. 

She’d never gotten the chance. 

But the sensations of Cal’s lips on her neck and chest, Trilla’s fingers roughly circling her clit were better, more satisfying than whenever Merrin had given in and pleasured herself alone. 

She never wanted this to end. 

———

“You’re eating,” Merrin remarked in surprise. 

Cal, who was curled up in his poncho and eating a piece of honey-slathered toast (and dripping crumbs all over Greez’s prized couch), blinked in confusion. 

“Cere bought honey,” he said, gazing at his half-eaten slice of toast. “You can have it if you want—“

“No,” Merrin said firmly. “I will get my own later. Have you told Trilla?”

Cal shook his head. 

“I’ll ask her if she wants some,” Merrin replied. Then she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against Cal’s lips before she headed off the  _ Mantis. _

She couldn’t help the pride swelling in her chest. 

Sure, toast with honey was a light snack, but Cal seemed to have gotten it  _ all on his own. _ Usually someone needed to remind him to eat, or he’d fall back into his old habits and not touch a crumb the entire day. 

But whether he’d realized it or not, Cal getting his own breakfast was a good sign. 

Merrin smiled to herself. 

His lips had tasted as sweet as the honey on his toast. 

The Bogano sun was warm on her back as she walked across the meadow, a cool, arid breeze making the dying grasses of the plains rustle. 

It was autumn, Merrin realized. 

And she’d never seen snow in her life, so that would be a strange experience. 

And then she found Trilla, helping Cere harvest the garden they’d planted after hunkering down on Bogano for the time being in an attempt to lie low, Greez sitting in a lawn chair next to them and cutting the tops off some kind of root vegetable remarkably similar in hue to Cal’s hair. 

“Trilla,” Merrin called. “Cal made toast with honey. Would you like some?”

Trilla’s eyes snapped to her, wide with surprise. “Toast with honey? He’s eating on his own again?”

Merrin nodded. 

Cere arched her eyebrows, her stoic yet bemused look betraying none of the elated relief flowing off the older woman in waves. “He found the honey I bought?”

Merrin nodded again. “And he was dripping crumbs all over your couch, Greez.”

Greez sat bolt-upright, eyes flashing wide with alarm. “Hey! Why didn’t you… ah, damn it, where’s that kid—“

Cere laughed. “Your couch can wait, Greez. Keep cutting off the carrot tops.”

Greez grumbled in irritation, sinking back into his lawn chair as one of his two sets of arms came up to rest on his stout hips in annoyance, the other set continuing to slice the feathery leaves off the tops of the bright orange root vegetables (which must’ve been the carrots).

“I’d like some toast with honey,” Trilla said, pulling her crutches to her with the Force and slowly rising. 

“Go ahead,” Cere replied. “The garden’s almost done, anyway.”

“Don’t eat too much, though, kid,” Greez added. “I’m making soup and nerf steak tonight and I don’t want you spoiling your appetite—hey, what’s so funny?”

Merrin quickly hid her smirk behind her hand as Trilla and Cere both chuckled. It was amusing, really, how much Greez’s attitude towards Trilla had changed. In the beginning he’d been terrified of her and had avoided her as much as he possibly could (which wasn’t easy since the  _ Mantis _ was so small). Now, Greez treated her almost like he would his own child, much like he did Merrin and Cal. 

“Nothing,” Cere remarked. “I can’t wait for the nerf steak. You’re a great cook.”

“Why thank you!” Greez replied enthusiastically, folding his currently unoccupied set of arms across his chest. “I didn’t spend six years at the finest culinary school on Lateron for nothing!”

Merrin smiled to herself, slipping her arm through Trilla’s as they walked back to the  _ Mantis.  _

When they reached it, Cal was sitting on the roof, wrapped up in his favorite poncho (the pink one with white detailing that Greez had bought for him on his birthday) with a plate of honey-slathered toast slices. BD-1 was sitting contentedly in his lap, his internal fans making quiet, electronic sounds that reminded Merrin of a Loth-cat’s purr. 

Cal looked very peaceful as he sat with his eyes closed, his red hair nearly glowing orange in the afternoon light. 

Merrin smiled. 

It had been a while since she’d seen Cal so at peace like this rather than shivering and anxious and terrified of the nightmares or his own tortured mind. 

So she carefully helped Trilla climb up onto the roof next to Cal. 

Trilla immediately grabbed a slice of toast and jammed it in her mouth, and the sight made Merrin giggle. 

Cal blinked, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Hey guys,” he murmured, running his fingers over BD-1’s antenna like one would stroke a Tooka. “You like the toast?”

“Absolutely,” Trilla said with her mouth full. 

Merrin chuckled to herself and settled next to Cal on the roof, letting her hand slip around his narrow waist.

“I like Bogano,” she said. “It does not feel dark and empty and wrought with pain and death, like Dathomir. It feels… light. I feel life everywhere I go here.”

Cal smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s calming.”

“And annoying, no offense to the planet or anything,” Trilla remarked, sliding down next to Cal on his other side. “But the horrid sinkholes make navigating this place damn near impossible for me and my stupid useless legs.”

“At least they still work,” Cal remarked. 

“Prick,” Trilla huffed. 

“Bitch.”

“Arseface.”

“Slag-rat.”

Trilla snorted.

As strange as it was, Merrin didn’t question Cal and Trilla’s mutual habit of insulting each other. Their banter was amusing, and they both seemed to enjoy it. 

“You know,  _ Merrin _ doesn’t say mean shit to me,” Cal taunted, leaning his head on her shoulder. 

Trilla scoffed. “Sure.”

Merrin chuckled as Cal kissed them both on the cheek. “Good thing I love both of you more than life itself,” he said. 

“I love you as well, Jedi,” Merrin replied, and gently kissed Cal’s lips. 

“Hey, what about me?” Trilla complained. 

Merrin laughed at the ex-Inquisitor’s failing attempt at an angry scowl, and gave her a quick peck. “Do not worry, Inquisitor,” she added. “I love you too.”

She could’ve sworn she saw Trilla blushing like a schoolgirl behind her hand. 

BD-1 chirped happily, pushing his head under Merrin’s hand as the three of them watched the sun making its slow descent towards the horizon. Unlike on Dathomir, this sunset was in beautiful hues of orange, yellow, red, and pink, rather than just stark shades of vermillion. 

Beautiful, like both of Merrin’s lovers. 

Deep down, despite the pain that they usually carried, she was grateful for their quiet nights on the  _ Mantis.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i’m sad


End file.
